Page 66 of No Take Backs
“I don’t think you need to go that far,” Mom mutters, her voice slightly distracted as she flips through the paperwork in her lap. She’s been a steady presence throughout this ordeal, calm and collected, even as I’ve been bouncing between anger and terror. She’s always been good in a crisis, but right now, I wish she’d let me be angry without trying to temper it.
“You know he was doing it to save Lyla and Richard,” she continues, not even looking up as she speaks. “You can’t fault him for that.” Her words are soft, reasonable, and they should be comforting. They aren’t. “He saved them.”
“Yes. I can.” I point a finger at her, my anger boiling over again. “And if he doesn’t have a concussion, then he definitely will by the time I’m done with him.” The thought of knocking some sense into him, literally, makes the corner of my mouth twitch in a grim sort of satisfaction. “Stupid. So stupid. Could have lost his stupid, stupid ass.”
The tears are threatening to fall, and I barely manage to keep them in check.
Commotion at the door has both of us looking up, our conversation interrupted by the sudden influx of noise. A group of police officers and firefighters walk through the back entrance to the emergency room, their laughter echoing off the sterile white walls. The sound grates on my nerves, a stark contrast to the turmoil roiling inside me.
“This isn’t funny,” I snap at them as a whole, my voice sharp and cutting through the jovial atmosphere they’ve brought with them. How can they laugh when he’s lying here, when I’m standing on the edge of a precipice, terrified of what might come next?
Kyle, Josh’s brother, is among them, his easy smile faltering slightly at my words. He steps forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “It’s kind of funny,” he says, his tone light but not dismissive. He’s trying to diffuse the situation, to bring some levity to the room, but it only serves to heighten my frustration.
“He’s your brother. How can you be okay with everyone smiling or laughing when he could die?” The words burst out of me before I can stop them, my voice rising with each syllable. It’s a question that’s been gnawing at me since they walked in, and now it’s out in the open, hanging heavy in the air.
Kyle’s smile fades, replaced by a seriousness that matches my own.
“He’s not dying,” Mom feels the need to add, her voice gentle but firm. She’s been through this before, seen more than her fair share of close calls, and it shows in the calm certainty of her words. “He hit his head on the side of the door as the fire knocked him out of the house, from what the officers say. I told you, he’ll probably sleep because of the pain medication. And they’re allowed to laugh because you sound ridiculous.”
“I’m worried.” Wide-eyed, I glare around the room. “That’s not ridiculous. You guys are all just assholes.”
“It is a little,” Ella chimes in, her voice gentle but firm. She’s sitting on the hospital bed, cradling a peacefully sleeping Lyla in her arms. The sight of them, so serene in the midst of all this chaos, tugs at something deep inside me. Next to them, in his own bed, is Richard, his small frame dwarfed by the crisp white sheets.
“She’s right,” Richard adds quietly, his voice carrying the weight of someone much older. “You’re being loud. And that’s gonna wake up Lyla.” His eyes, wide and serious, lock on mine with a flash of warning that’s impossible to ignore. Waking Lyla up now, after everything, would be a mistake.
“Did you know…” Richard tries to continue, his voice trailing off as he suddenly becomes aware that he has everyone’s attention. The room stills, and all eyes turn to him, waiting for whatever he’s about to say.
“Go ahead,” I urge gently, lowering my voice to a soft whisper. The last thing I want to do is frighten him or make him feel like he’s said too much.
“Did you know that Lyla told that lady she was a psycho,” Richard continues, his words slow and deliberate, as if he’s piecing the memory together in real time. “And she kept that lady from hurting us.” There’s a note of awe in his voice, the kind that comes from witnessing something extraordinary. “Lyla’s braver than anyone I’ve ever met. Except for you or Josh,” he adds, his eyes flicking between the two of us. The solemnity in his voice tugs at my heartstrings, and I find myself holding my breath, hanging on his every word.
“You ran into the house to save Piper.” His voice catches, and for a moment, it feels like the air in the room has been sucked out, leaving us all in a vacuum of shared grief and admiration. “And he just ran in to save us. He got us out. And then he hit his head. So you should be quiet. Let them sleep. Heroes need it.”
The way he says it, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s explaining the most basic truth, nearly undoes me. I purse my lips, not from annoyance, but to keep from bursting into tears at his words. The sheer gravity of what he’s saying, of what Lyla and Josh did, hits me like a tidal wave.
“You’re right,” I choke out over the impossibly large lump in my throat. “I’ll be quiet.”
“No,” comes a groggy groan from beside me, and I whip around to see Josh blinking up at me, his eyes barely open but full of that familiar teasing light. “Don’t be quiet. You’re keeping the headache at bay.” His voice is rough, laced with pain, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“Where’s the wild girl who kicked my ass at strip poker?” he adds, his words slurred slightly from the pain medication but still clear enough to send a rush of heat to my cheeks.
“Shut up,” I hiss, slapping a hand over his mouth before he can say anything more incriminating. But it’s too late. I can already see the amused glances being exchanged around the room, my mother’s eyebrows shooting up in surprise and then quickly settling into a knowing smirk.
“Oops,” Josh says sheepishly, his eyes widening as he takes in the room full of people who are now very much aware of our private games. He looks back at me, his grin crooked, and I can’t help but roll my eyes at the mischievous glint in them. “I didn’t mean to say that. Blame it on the concussion I feel tearing through my brain right now.”
“I hate you,” I whisper fiercely against his chest as he pulls me down into a hug, the warmth of his embrace washing over me like a balm to my frayed nerves. Despite my words, I nuzzle closer, inhaling the familiar scent of him mixed with smoke, antiseptic, and something distinctly Josh.
“No, you don’t,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he presses a kiss to the top of my head.
“You’re right. I don’t.” The admission is barely above a whisper, but it’s filled with all the emotion I’ve been holding back.
A few seconds later, the room empties out, the others giving us some space. It’s just us now, as alone as we can be in a hospital room. The hum of the machines fades into the background, leaving us in a comfortable silence that feels heavy with unspoken words.
“I have to tell you something,” I whisper, my voice trembling slightly. This is it. The moment I’ve been avoiding for so long, the truth I’ve kept buried deep inside. But I can’t wait any longer.
His eyes find mine, and there’s a flicker of concern in them. “You’re not dying, are you?” The humor in his tone is meant to lighten the mood, but it catches me off guard, and I have to remind myself that he’s hurt. I resist the urge to elbow him, at least not hard.
“The reason I don’t date cops.”